


in moments of madness

by owilde



Series: lament [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Discussions about mental health issues, Dissociation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Therapy, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, everything will be okay in the end, soft boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 02:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10453296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: "I want to feel," he said, out loud, and his voice felt like it didn't belong to him at all. It was distant, and not his own, and the words he was speaking were not his own. "I want to feel," he repeated, louder. Fear gripped his stomach, because it wasn't him talking, except it was. He felt like he was wearing two skins at the same time, and the other one was talking instead ofhim.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another part, hooray. You should maybe read the first part before this, this'll make more sense then.
> 
> The author coping with their own mental health issues by inserting them on fictional characters? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> TW for referenced past suicide attempt and general mental illness stuff, esp dissociation. 
> 
> Title taken from Ultravox's _The Lament_.

**i.**

The room was pitch-black. Raphael lied on his side, curled up – maybe to be as small as possible, to escape himself somehow. The only sound he could hear was his own breathing, suddenly too loud for the small space he inhabited. The mattress felt too soft (it kept groaning under his weight), and the blanket too heavy (suffocating), and his body too tired and numb to do anything to ease the situation.

The red light from his digital clock shone dimly against his face. It was three in the morning. Raphael blinked at the light accusingly. It wasn't insomnia in the sense that he couldn't sleep because he wasn't tired, more that he couldn't sleep because he was _too_ tired (bone deep exhaustion that kept seeping through the cracks). He was used to it; it had been a constant companion of his for so many years.

During the past few months, he'd begun texting Simon when it got like this (which was most nights). But he didn't want to bother him this morning. He rarely did. Simon deserved someone who could keep his shit together, someone who could sleep for more than two hours without having nightmares. Someone not like Raphael.

They'd been repetitive, lately. It was always him, up on the ledge of a building, alone. The building was never on any fixed point in space, sometimes far up from the street and sometimes not. He always wanted to jump. It was something Raphael didn't understand. Lately, he hadn't wanted to jump off buildings. Lately, he'd been okay. Not okay by the definition of normal people, a far cry from it. But okay by his own (horrible) standards.

Death had been on his mind for so long it felt like an old friend. Sometimes, it was a friend he wished to embrace. The last three months, it was a friend he sometimes thought of but didn't wish to see. His therapist thought it was a huge improvement, and he supposed it was. Some of the credit went to Simon, who made him feel more alive than he had in a while. But he thought it was bullshit that meeting someone could _cure_ him (and he wasn't that – cured).

He'd probably never be completely okay. But he knew that and accepted it. It was just one of those things that he lived with. Depression, they said. He thought it was an ugly name for an ugly thing. He often wished he could've been normal, but, then again – what was normal, anyway?

Raphael turned to his back and stared at the roof.

"I want to feel," he said, out loud, and his voice felt like it didn't belong to him at all. It was distant, and not his own, and the words he was speaking were not his own. "I want to feel," he repeated, louder. Fear gripped his stomach, because it wasn't him talking, except it was. He felt like he was wearing two skins at the same time, and the other one was talking instead of _him_.

"What's happening?" He whispered (the other one whispered), but no one answered. Raphael flung his legs over the side of his bed, his feet touching the cold floor. He reached for his phone, his hands trembling.

 **To** : _simon_ [3:07 am] simon somethings wrong i dont understand

 **To** : _simon_ [3:07 am] i dont feel like i'm me like there's another me and my head's splitting and im splitting

 **To** : _simon_ [3:08 am] and everythings wrong and i dont understand whats happening and im panicking and

 **To** : _simon_ [3:08 am] and i shouldnt bother you i'm sorry i shouldn't i

 **To** : _simon_ [3:08 am] might be hypervvetilating i cnt breahe im sorry im sorry ill go now

**ii.**

Robert was frowning at him over his coffee mug. Raphael kept his eyes on the blue mug instead of Robert. He felt acutely aware of himself, his every move and thought. He could feel his fingers tapping against his leg, but it felt more involuntary than voluntary.

"Can you describe the feeling to me again?" Robert asked. He set the mug down and picked up a notebook and a pen.

Raphael's eyes had followed the mug. The coffee was still steaming. "It was like… like it wasn't me talking. I mean, it was, but not… not really. I couldn't recognize my voice, it felt all surreal and shit. And I… it keeps coming back, the more I talk about it. Like this, now, it doesn't feel like it's me describing it. It's… not another _person_ , but another version of me. Now, it feels as if the person who was talking last night wasn't me at all. I can barely remember saying anything. Like... it doesn't feel real."

Raphael looked up from the mug and at Robert, who was scribbling notes down. Once he stopped, he looked up at Raphael with a serious expression. "We're going to set up a meeting with one of our doctors," he said in a voice that left no room for arguments. "You'll talk to them about this, and then we'll… see what's up, after that. But I think… Because this is new for you, it's significant. Let's talk about the past year, okay? Tell me about it. Your situation."

Raphael nodded (or the other one nodded – someone did, either way). "I started here because of depressive symptoms," he started, the familiar speech forming in his head once more. "Which I'd had for years, but which I hadn't seeked help for. My boss… implicated that I needed to get my shit together if I wanted to keep my job, so I looked up psychiatrists nearby and found this. And I talked to someone else for a while, about everything, and it kind of made it better. And then she changed cities and I started with you. Which was two years ago."

"Yes," Robert said, humming. "I remember."

"And at that point I'd lived with this shit for years. And I thought I was doing okay, I guess. And I was, for a while. Because our talking did help, somewhat. Then… about a year ago, um." Raphael paused, biting his lower lip. "The panic attacks got worse. And my anxiety got worse. Everything just… got worse. And I kept spiralling down, and down, and down. And then I tried to kill myself."

Robert looked at him calmly. "I remember that, too. It was a little before you met Simon, right?"

Raphael nodded. "A few weeks before that. I… I don't know. I just wanted it to end. All of it. And so, I…" His sentence faded away, the rest of it disappearing like dust in the wind. The silence dragged on for a moment.

"And so you almost bled to death in your bathroom," Robert supplied, gently.

"Yeah," Raphael croaked. "Yes. And that was the… the breaking point, really. I didn't die. And it somehow got better again. And I met Simon. And it was good for a while. I mean, I was getting a bit more apathetic, but… it was good. And now _this_."

Robert hummed again. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger. "And now this," he repeated. "Listen, I'll get that appointment with the doctor set up within a few weeks, probably, I'll text you the date and time. Talk to them about all of this, yes?"

Raphael nodded. "I will. I… thank you."

A smile played on Robert's lips as he sipped his coffee. "Now that's a first," he said.

And Raphael smiled, too.

**iii.**

"I got your messages," Simon said, sitting down opposite to Raphael. They were in Simon's apartment, on the living room floor, because sometimes the situation called for sitting on the floor. Simon was drinking tea – it calmed his nerves. "I felt so scared," he continued, his brows tilting in a strange way that made him look confused and sad at the same time.

"I shouldn't have sent those," Raphael mumbled, picking at the threads of the carpet with his fingers. The motion didn't feel completely like his own.

"No, I'm glad you did," Simon hurried to say. "I'm glad that you did, otherwise I wouldn't have known. And I want to know what's up with you, I do. How are you feeling now?"

Raphael honestly didn't know. He didn't feel like himself, but it wasn't as bad as the previous night. He felt like he was more… _together._ He wasn't as separated.

"Okay, I guess," he said out loud. "Not splitting, or whatever I said. But it's worse if I think about it."

Simon's eyes widened a bit, and he sipped his tea. "Then we shouldn't talk about it," he said. "Let's talk about something else, yeah?"

"Yeah," Raphael agreed. He stopped picking on the carpet, and leaned against the wall behind him.

Simon smiled hesitantly, and cleared his throat. "Okay, so, I was thinking, that maybe you could meet some of my friends? You totally don't have to if you're not comfortable, but… they're like family, to me. And it's been almost four months, so, I figured, you know. I'd like you to meet them."

Raphael's heart flipped, which was strange, because he hadn't felt much at all in a while. "I- sure. I'd love to meet them. Of course." He hesitated, then continued. "Although maybe not all of them at the same time. It would be… overwhelming."

Simon grinned. "Of course, a few at a time. That's totally cool with me. So, I'm thinking, next week? You could meet my best friend and her girlfriend? And then the girlfriend's brother and his boyfriend, later. And then my best friend's girlfriend's brother in all of his loneliness."

Raphael smiled despite himself. "You did mean it when you said none of your friends are straight," he mused. "But, yes. It would be my pleasure to meet all of them."

"Great." Simon looked positively adorable, grinning into his mug, and Raphael smiled.

Later that evening, they were sitting on the couch, Raphael resting his head against Simon's shoulder. A movie was playing – Raphael thought it might've been _The New Hope_ – but he wasn't paying too much attention to it. His heart was beating too loudly, and Raphael was too aware of his own body, and his breathing, and his thoughts… Where did thoughts even come from? Who was talking inside his head? Was it him, or was it someone else?

Raphael pressed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again. He felt disoriented, like it wasn't him watching the screen, but someone else. _Why_ , a voice thought inside his head, _why now, not now, why me?_

"I'm not feeling too good," Raphael said, his voice a mile away. He stood up, and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He fell to the floor, his back against the door, and Simon asked something from the other side but his voice was muffled and someone was crying – was it Raphael? – and everything was too real and not real enough and he couldn't feel the door and everything was _wrong_.

**iv.**

"I have a doctor's appointment next Monday," Raphael said. He was on the phone with Simon, calling from his work because there was little else to do. Robert had just texted him with the details. He'd added a smiley face at the end of the message, which made Raphael want to reconsider having him as his therapist.

" _Okay_ ," Simon replied. He'd been getting increasingly worried the past few days, and Raphael couldn't bear it. Simon had enough to worry about as it was, he didn't want to add to it with this. " _That's good. Maybe we could see after that, if that's alright? And… look, if you're not up to meeting Clary and Izzy on Wednesday, I totally get it, okay? You don't have to do anything that's not alright with you. I want you to know that."_

"Yeah, I know. But I do want to meet them. It's just… I have to get used to this shit, whatever it is. I can't continue freaking out every time I feel weird. It's like with anything; I just need to learn to control it so it doesn't control me."

" _Sometimes we can't control everything_ ," Simon said. " _And sometimes that's okay. But I get what you mean. It's like with anxiety attacks. I had to recognize when they were about to happen, so I could… I don't know, remove myself from the situation._ "

Raphael nodded, rolling in his chair inside is cubicle. He was meant to be looking into potential buyers, but he'd already filled his quota for the day and he still had an hour left.

"Exactly," he said to Simon. "Exactly like that. Whatever this is, I need to learn to deal with it. And I will."

On the other end of the line, Simon hummed. " _Yep. Just remember to take it easy on yourself. Don't get too worked up."_ There was a pause. " _I miss you already. I know we saw each other like, two days ago, but… well. You're easy to miss."_

A smile found its way to Raphael's face. "I miss you too. I'll see you next Monday, after the doctor thing. Hopefully I'll know more by then."

" _Yeah, don't hope for miracles,"_ Simon teased with a laugh. _"Alright, I gotta go. Text me later."_

And then with a click he was gone. Raphael set his phone down. He felt empty again. Which wasn't unusual, not at all, but unwelcoming.

"Yo, Santiago!" Came a shout from somewhere behind him, and Raphael turned around in his chair to look.

A man was walking towards him at a rapid pace. He looked pissed off – he was frowning harder than Simon when they misspelled his name at Starbucks.

"Yeah?" Raphael asked, lifting a brow.

The man stopped in front of him, his hands crossed over his chest. "Alec Lightwood," he introduced bluntly. His entire demeanour spelled _stay away_ to Raphael, who hoped it wasn't a usual thing.

"Luke said to talk to you," Alec continued, looking like he'd have rather talked to anyone else. "About helping you out. Partnering up, or something. Sharing the workload."

Raphael frowned as well. "Partnering up? We've never done that."

Alec scoffed, and decided to sit down next to him. "Yeah, I know, right? Like what's that all about? But Luke said it was good for group morale or whatever. So I guess we're partners now."

Raphael nodded slowly. It didn't sound like a thing Luke _wouldn't_ do, and he supposed there was nothing he could do about the situation, either way. "Well, I'm done for today, so, I don't really-"

"Yeah, no, it's fine," Alec interrupted. "I'm going home soon, anyways." He paused for a moment, and his aura of anger seemed to seep away a little. He was biting his lower lip. Then he looked at Raphael, tilting his head. "Listen, suppose you had an argument with your boyfriend – what kind of flowers would you buy as an apology?"

Raphael blinked, surprised by the sudden change of attitude. "I don't know. What kind of flowers does he like?"

Alec rolled his eyes, then smiled. Somehow, it made him look like a completely different person. "He says asters, but I've seen him look at anemones with more love than he has for me." Alec looked pondering for a second, then he stood up. "I'll buy anemones. He'll like that. And then I'll cook dinner." He looked at Raphael, and grinned. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

And then he was out the door and Raphael was left to stare after him in confusion.

**v.**

Simon was sitting down next to him, silently, as Raphael cried. The couch was soft underneath him, and Raphael leaned his elbows against his knees as he pressed his face into his palms. He could feel the tears on his fingers, and he wanted to wipe them away, but he didn't, and more kept coming.

A familiar feeling of fear gripped his insides, mixed with sadness Raphael hadn't known he was still capable of. Simon touched his back hesitantly, tracing his spine with his finger in a comforting way. After a while, Raphael lifted his head, and leaned against Simon, who adjusted to the position and moved his arm around Raphael's shoulders.

"This is ridiculous," Raphael mumbled, sniffling. "This is so fucking ridiculous-"

"Shh," Simon hushed him, petting his hair. "It's alright. It's not ridiculous. It's normal."

Raphael felt tears on his cheeks but he couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. They continued their way down and dropped against his collarbone.

"No, it's not," he argued. "I- I should b-be happy they're even interested in fixing a fuck up like me," he said. "But i-instead I'm fucking crying because they offered to give me medication that could actually _help_ but it's too _much_ -"

"Shh," Simon hushed him again. He continued to comb his fingers through Raphael's hair in a way that made Raphael feel _safe_. "I get it. It's a lot at first, it is. And look, you don't have to decide about it right away. We can talk about it, and then you can do what feels right."

Raphael buried his head against Simon's shoulder, breathing him in. "But if I take meds," he mumbled, "it means I'm really crazy, and that I need something to make me better, and that's _not okay,_ Simon, it's not okay for me, it's not, it's not."

"It's alright," Simon whispered. "It's alright, I swear. Sometimes we're born incomplete, and sometimes we lose stuff along the way, and you're not a bad person for needing medication to be on the same level as others. It's _alright_."

"It's not," Raphael cried. "I- Simon, it's like I'm a failure on every s-single fucking level."

"You wouldn't say that to me, would you?" Simon asked quietly, without a hint of accusation in his voice. "You wouldn't call me a failure for taking meds, would you?"

"N-no," Raphael replied. "Obviously not."

"Then why would you do the same for yourself?"

Raphael didn't have an answer. "It's not the same," he mumbled. He suddenly felt exhausted. "I- I don't know."

Raphael slumped against Simon, his eyes closing without Raphael giving them permission. "I need you to know," he whispered sleepily. "I need you to know that I love you, Si. You need to know that."

He could feel Simon pressing a kiss on his forehead. "I know," he whispered, and Raphael thought maybe he was crying too. "I know. I love you, too."

And Raphael fell asleep in Simon's arms, feeling like he was at home.


End file.
